


Once Upon a Time

by JenniferJF



Series: The O'Neills [2]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Gen, Stargate: Continuum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-11
Updated: 2008-08-11
Packaged: 2017-10-26 04:26:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/278675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferJF/pseuds/JenniferJF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like all good fairy tales, this one begins with Once Upon a Time and ends with Happily Ever After, but getting there takes some time. A lot of time. Much of which ended up never happening. Fill-in story for Continuum.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fishing

Neither of them had spoken for a very long time; the rustle of wind through leaves, the low buzzing of an insect, or the occasional splash as some unseen animal slid back beneath the water the only sounds to break the pond's tranquility. Which was part of the beauty of the thing, really, because even tasks such as helping secure a lure or untangle a line, or passing more bait or another beer, rarely required words anymore. The teamwork grown to instinct through years as comrades-in-arms, both in and out of combat, had quickly translated into this as into nearly every other aspect of their personal lives as well.

Sam pulled her line out of the water, removed the tangles of weed she'd managed to snare, and, reaching back, recast her line. The lure hit, entering the water with a satisfying plop. After a second to let it sink, she began reeling in, the click-whir of the reel giving rhythm to her thoughts.

Fishing would always remain special, though, because, no matter how many other activities now filled their lives, Jack still never smiled anywhere, doing anything, as much as he did sitting out on this pier with a fishing rod in his hand, and the only time he was more relaxed - well, neither one of them was young enough anymore to keep that up all afternoon. Although they'd certainly tried.

She glanced over at her husband who, despite the increasing silver in his hair and wrinkles on his face which even love couldn't blind her to, was still the best looking man she'd ever met. But that, she admitted, might be that love again. As if sensing her gaze - and knowing him he probably could - Jack looked up, returning her gaze.

And smiled. The utterly perfect, utterly Jack smile she was certain most people couldn't even imagine him capable of. The one he reserved for rare moments of complete happiness. Like fishing with her, off their pier, in Minnesota.

Her own smile broadening in response to his, she turned back toward the water. The three weeks of leave they'd both managed to grab - amazingly at the same time for once - shortly after her return from Atlantis might seem like a long time to spend fishing to some, but for her and Jack, it was barely long enough.

Having finished reeling in her line, Sam pulled back and recast it out across the water once more.

-o-o-o-o-

Jack was happy. Drifting up out of sleep, he couldn't even remember why, and he didn't really care. But realization came along with consciousness, an awareness of where he was - and whom he was with.

Sam lay tucked along his side on the narrow couch, her body warm and soft against his. The remnants of a fire still smoldered in the fireplace. Admittedly, it was a bit too close to summer for a fire to be really necessary, but he had wanted to create a mood. It had seemed to do the trick. Not that he had needed 'a trick'…. His arms tightened around the woman in his arms, and he bent his head to nuzzle the top of her hair. It might be a cliché, but at that moment he didn't care. He really was the luckiest man alive.

The movement, however, had been a mistake. The arm which Sam was lying on had fallen asleep, and the muscles clenched painfully as the motion forced blood flow to resume. His neck had been at an odd angle against the sofa's arm, and trying to get it straight again proved both difficult and painful.

He winced, waking Sam from what must have been a light slumber. She pulled away from him a bit to look at him - obviously forgetting where they were. Suddenly unbalanced, she nearly slid backward off the edge of the sofa. She clasped her arms around him for support as he pulled her back against him. In the tight space, with tight muscles, even that much action hurt. On the other hand, he now had Sam clasped tightly against his chest. Which was nice. Very nice. The painfulness of his position seemed suddenly far less important.

Only she somehow sensed he was in pain, because she asked, concern evident in those beautiful eyes, "What's wrong?"

He chuckled, because it really was funny all things considered. "I must be getting old. I remember when sleeping didn't hurt so much."

"Me too," she admitted with a laugh. She stretched slightly as she spoke, arching her back. Which pressed certain very interesting parts of hers against his now very interested ones.

Her gesture might have been innocent, but his response wasn't. Hopefully she wouldn't….

"Jack…?" Her eyes were wide and innocent as she looked up at him. Too wide and innocent.

"I said old Carter, not dead."

"Ah. Yes, sir." She really had been getting better at maintaining a poker face. It took a good five seconds for the giggle to escape. And how anyone could look that hot while giggling was a mystery whose answer still eluded him. It wasn't fair.

But he'd learned his lesson the first time. Catching her wandering hand before things got much further, he asked, "Now, could we please move to the perfectly good - big - bed in the next room?"

She giggled again. Damn her. "You betcha." Twisting away from him, she got up off the sofa in a single nimble motion which left him a bit jealous and a whole lot more anxious to get into the bedroom. She reached down her hand for him. "Coming…?"

He took the offered hand, more than willing to let her help him get to his feet. His present condition was, after all, mostly her fault. Well, considering that his muscles had actually already recovered - he wasn't that old - it was entirely her fault. Not that he was complaining. Definitely not complaining.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, and rising from the sofa, followed her into the bedroom.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Sam thrust the bottle of maple syrup across the table at him. Real, genuine maple syrup - the good stuff - made by a local and sold at the gas station-grocery store-bait shop-only shop in all of Silver Creek.

He took the bottle and sniffed as ordered. "Smells fine to me."

"Don't you think it smells…funny?" Truth be told, it smelled horrible. It made her stomach churn it was so bad.

Jack laughed. "Look, if you don't want to eat 'em, don't. You're not gonna be hurting my feelings. They're just Eggo's." He pointed towards the cabin door. "Throw them outside. I'm sure something will eat them."

"No way. The last thing we need is another family of raccoons living on our front porch." They had ultimately had to hire a local trapper to take care of that little problem.

Jack went back to eating his Froot Loops. "Suit yourself," he answered, nearly splashing milk onto the table as he gestured with his spoon at the over-colorful cereal box. "You could try Froot Loops…." Before she could open her mouth to protest, he continued with a laugh, "Don't worry, I picked up more of your granola and that fruity-flaky stuff you like, Carter."

Which was all very nice, and she tried to act appreciative, but, truth be told, she'd wanted some of his Froot Loops since he'd opened the box and the sweet smell of sugar and artificial flavoring had hit her nose. But she'd die before she'd admit that to him, especially considering all the times she'd teased him about his choice of breakfast foods.

She was just getting up to pour herself a bowl of proper adult cereal and dispose of her waffles in their proper receptacle when she heard the sound outside. Jack did too and they turned in unison toward the front of the cabin. He had already unlocked the gun safe and passed her a rifle before she was sure of what they were hearing. Clear and unmistakable now, they heard the beating of a helicopter blade rapidly approaching the cabin.

"Cover me - just in case," Jack said over his shoulder as, moving quickly, he stepped outside the door.


	2. Seeds

Despite the seriousness of the situation, watching the helicopter crew snap to attention and salute Jack, who was wearing nothing but a pair of old boxer shorts, was one of the most absurdly funny things Sam had seen in a long time. Fortunately for her sense of modesty, however, as soon as Jack had verified that the chopper and its crew really were from the SGC, he had insisted that the crew wait for her and Jack to change into something more presentable before she would come out and speak with them. Which demand, considering she'd been wearing nothing but a light robe over the remnants of what she'd had on the night before, was probably as much for Jack as for herself.

Ten minutes later, fully dressed, though still out of uniform because No Way was Jack ever letting one of those come to the cabin when they were on leave, Jack and Sam approached the pilot, a Captain Mullie, whom Sam had never met before. He saluted Jack with a "Sir," and nodded toward Sam, "Ma'am."

Jack, however-and as far as Sam was concerned with complete justification-was in no mood for it. "There'd better be one helluva good reason Landry sent you up here, Captain. It's called leave for a reason."

"Yes, Sir." The poor kid was - understandably - nervous. "There is, Sir. Um…" he glanced from Jack to Sam. "My orders concerned Colonel Carter…."

"Talk," Jack ordered.

Captain Mullie looked at Sam, who nodded as encouragingly as she could. Mullie continued, speaking directly to Sam, obviously trying his best to ignore the deepening scowl on the face of the General Officer at her side. "Ma'am, there's been a… situation … developing on Atlantis."

"What kind of a situation?" Jack interrupted.

"Medical, Sir - I don't know the details. Some contagion, apparently non-contagious, that Colonel Carter may have been exposed to as well."

Sam looked at Jack, and for one brief moment could see the raw terror in his eyes before the mask fell back into place. "Right then. We're going," Jack concluded.

"Sir, our orders were only to bring…." Jack was already helping Sam climb into the helicopter's side. "Very good, Sir," Mullie finished, though by then he was speaking only to himself.

The crew got in around them, checking to ensure Sam and Jack were properly secured before strapping themselves in. As the chopper lifted, Sam watched out the open door as first the cabin, then the pond, and finally the surrounding woods receded beneath them, and she couldn't help but wonder if….

Jack's hand on her arm broke her reverie just in time. She turned in her seat, fixing her attention on him instead.

"C'mere." It was a request, not permission, though she needed the contact as desperately as he did. Sam settled against his side; his arm slipped around her shoulders. In silence, surrounded by strangers, they flew back toward a place that was no longer even home.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Jack paced the length of the medical isolation room for the hundredth time that hour. He hated being confined. Anywhere. But, as long as Sam was quarantined here at the SGC, that's what he was. Confined.

He looked over at Sam, who was sitting at the head of the hospital bed, knees tucked up to her chin, arms holding tightly to her legs, long hair falling forward to frame her face and cast her features in shadows. Once again, he marveled at how someone so strong could seem so small and frail stuck in a gown in a hospital room. Or how he was always so powerless to do anything about it.

Damn it.

He moved towards the door. "I'm going to go find out what's taking so long. It's been four hours…."

She looked up at that, hair parting to reveal eyes clouded with fear. In a voice which was itself frighteningly calm, she said "If they knew anything, they'd tell us."

He nodded. She was right, of course. But he had to do something. He spotted the thermos of coffee left on the small table by the door. "Coffee?" he asked, pointing towards it hopefully.

Sam smiled gently at him, and he knew in that instant that he wasn't fooling her a bit. "Yeah. That'd be good. Thanks."

Jack poured two mugs and brought them over to her. He handed her one and, perching next to her on the side of the bed, began drinking the other.

Sam sniffed the brew tentatively. "Does this smell okay to you? It smells sorta… Oh… crap!"

He managed, barely, to secure her mug and get the nearby trash can in front of her face before the first heaves took her. Nearly powerless to help - again - he could only try to keep her hair pulled back out of the way while she emptied her stomach into the wastebasket.

When she had finished, he traded the used can for a clean tissue. She wiped her face. As she was handing back the tissue, their eyes met and he could see his own terror at what had to be a symptom clearly reflected in her eyes.

Sam opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a soft knock on the door.

Jack found his public voice first. "Yes?"

"It's Dr. Lam."

"Come in, Doc."

Dr. Carolyn Lam entered the room, closing the door carefully behind her. Jack, though, was way past niceties. "She threw up," he said, pointing towards the evidence. "That's a symptom." It was a statement of fact; he knew that, and it terrified him.

The young woman - unbelievably - smiled slightly and nodded her head. 'Yes, it is."

"Doctor?" Sam asked from the bed.

Turning toward her patient, Dr. Lam quickly explained. 'Your systems are completely free of the alien pathogen that has infected Dr. Keller and the others on Atlantis, Colonel."

Jack was having trouble processing - and believing - the good news. "You sure?"

"Absolutely. We double and triple-checked, just to be sure."

On the bed, Sam was clearly thinking. Hard. "But… how?"

"That's really what took so long, because it wasn't immediately obvious. Though, I suppose considering, it's not surprising."

"What's not surprising?" Jack wanted to know. Sometimes he still found scientists maddening.

"It seems HCG, in combination with various immunological placental hormones, many of which are genetically unique to each individual, neutralize Michael's pathogen. Which, like I said, makes sense as he would have wanted to ensure the safety of Teyla and her baby."

"Of course…" Sam began. And stopped. "But that means…."

Surprisingly, to himself at least, Jack understood what the doctor had really just said only moments after Sam because, while much of her statement was meaningless to him, he knew exactly what a placenta and hormones meant.

Dr. Lam looked from Sam to Jack, and laughed. "I told you it was a symptom, General O'Neill." And, just before she slipped quietly from the room, she added, "And Sam, I'll be back shortly for your first prenatal exam."

Jack barely heard the doctor leave. He hadn't thought it possible to feel such immense joy and relief at the same time - to go in the space of a few precious seconds from the seeming certainty that he might lose everything to knowing he was gaining more than he'd ever dared hope for. But, as he hugged Sam tightly against his chest moments later, her tears soaking his shirt, he was happy enough to admit that someof the moisture might even have been his.

-o-o-o-o-o-

And all of this almost never was.

Because…


	3. Passages

In the end, the old cliché proved correct.

Not, however, in millions of memories playing across his vision, or in a lifetime of remembered emotions flooding through him.

No. In the end, it came down to just one face - hers - and to her eyes, always heart-rendingly beautiful, staring down at him. Not huge with wonder, or dancing with laughter, or shining with love, but hollow and empty. Only shock and pain remained.

Because she was dying. He could see it in those eyes. And he couldn't let it happen. Not to her.

So he struggled against the approaching darkness already clouding his vision, and against the weight in his chest which made each breath more impossible than the last. He had to tell her - had to make her understand: She couldn't die. She had to live so that he could live, too.

But the words wouldn't come; he hadn't the ability left to speak. He could only watch helplessly through his last remnants of sight as the light faded completely from those eyes. Powerless to save her.

In the end, as he died on the day which should have seen the death of the last Goa'uld System Lord, Jack O'Neill's life really did pass before his eyes. Not in the passing of old memories, but as the hope of all their future tomorrows passed out of Samantha Carter's.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Sam stumbled on the Arctic ice, Cam's hand on her arm the only thing which kept her from falling. Not that it would have mattered. Not that anything did.

They were dead men walking.

Because there was no way they were getting out of this one alive. Not that that even mattered. Not anymore; not to her.

She was already dead - had felt herself die in the moment she'd felt Jack's last breath rattle beneath her hand. There was nothing left of her worth fighting for.

And even this realization didn't hurt. In fact - and the small rational part of herself she'd managed to wake back on the Achilles knew this should scare her worst of all - Sam felt absolutely nothing. No pain and no fear; neither hope nor despair. Just a great empty hole inside her where those emotions used to exist. Because, in the space of those few moments when Ba'al had stabbed Jack as history had been rewritten, her entire future had vanished along with her past. She was left with nothing in a nowhere.

Really, death would have almost been preferable to all this endless walking. They weren't going anywhere, and had nothing to do anymore even if they got somewhere. It wasn't as if they even existed anymore. At least, not like this.

But - whatever. Cam was being very loud and very insistent and very annoying, and so far it had been easier to keep walking than to argue with him about it. Death was inevitable anyway.

Only, she couldn't help thinking that , if there were a merciful God out there somewhere, perhaps then, beyond death, she'd find hope and joy and peace again. Perhaps she'd find Jack.

Still, for now - one step in front of the other.

Dead men walking.


	4. Awakening

Colonel Samantha Carter, PhD - who was also Samantha O'Neill, though at the moment her records listed her as 'Jane Doe #6518' - sat on the end of the exam table, her legs hanging off the side. The doctor who'd conducted her medical exam shortly after SG-1's arrival at Elmendorf AFB had left her there nearly three hours ago, dressed in nothing but a paper exam gown and a thin sheet pulled up to her waist.

With only her own dark thoughts to keep her company, the wait had been nearly unbearable. Since they were rescued from the Arctic, and especially since encountering a Jack O'Neill who had looked right through her with no meaningful recognition, Sam's emotions had been slowly waking up. Like in an arm or leg that has fallen asleep, sensation returned slowly and painfully. Which was probably a blessing. She couldn't have born the full weight of her grief at once.

The first tingle of renewed feelings had come when Colonel O'Neill had found her and Cam out on the ice: that most dangerous of all emotions: Hope. He wasn't, of course, her Jack, but while Sam had known that, she couldn't make herself feel it. He was Jack. Every sense, every instinct, every part of her that mattered screamed that he was. Until she had tried to connect with him, and he had looked right through her. And then she had stopped trying completely. Because in this timeline, Jack still had Charlie - and certainly Sara as well - and Sam, who knew the scars their loss had left on him better than anyone, could not even bring herself to wish things could be different between them. Here, she would bear the scars instead.

So her hope had died almost as quickly as it had been born, yet it had rekindled a spark of feeling deep inside her. A spark which had grown until now she could almost feel again how completely she had loved him - and the full extent of her loss. Waiting there in that exam room, half-dressed and far from anything even remotely resembling home, with only her grief as company, Sam had never felt more miserably alone.

Eventually, after three hours, sixteen minutes, and some odd seconds - it was hard to tell seconds on the wall clock she'd been staring at - Doctor Mikita finally returned.

"Well, good news Colonel Carter."

At least, he gave her that.

"We've run all the tests, and you're in perfect health." Which she could have told them herself, but she understood the need for testing. They'd even done it themselves at the SGC when an alternate version of herself had shown up. "There is just one more thing, though," the doctor continued. He crossed to sit on the stool directly facing Sam, and glanced down briefly at the clipboard in his hand before looking back at her.

Sam could feel her heart beat a bit faster. She knew doctor for 'this is serious' when she saw it. "Yes?"

He tapped the clipboard. "It says you arrived here eight days ago. Is that correct?"

Sam nodded.

Mikita released his breath on a heavy sigh. "I'm afraid, then, under the circumstances, this might not be the happy news it usually is."

"What is?" She was starting to lose what patience she still had.

The doctor looked her straight in the eyes as he finally explained, "You're pregnant."

For one of the few times in her life, Samantha Carter lost control in front of a stranger and cried. Though whether they were tears of grief or joy she was never quite certain.


	5. Life

It was the hardest battle of her life, and she had to fight it all alone. Completely alone, as the fame of Dead Astronaut Carter made even simple friendships problematic at best.

The morning sickness began within days of her separation from Cam and Daniel and the start of her 'new life'; and why it was called morning sickness she'd never know. She spent hours lying helplessly on the couch or in bed, barely daring to move while her insides churned, hoping she'd make it to the toilet or at least have time to grab the bucket beside her on the floor before losing control completely. And each time the vomiting would come, leaving her helpless, she'd long for the simple comfort of just having him there. Because he was supposed to be with her, his hand on her shoulder or her back, doing nothing more than letting her know she wasn't alone. Reminding her she was loved.

After the morning sickness passed, she managed many months of relative calm as the tiny life inside her grew and her body expanded with it. Being alone then was harder than being alone through the sickness had been. She longed to share each milestone - each new sign of life: every hiccup and kick and shifting - with someone. With anyone. But most desperately with him.

At times, especially at night in the dark alone, she could almost pretend he was still there. Almost see and feel his arms around her, his hands pressed to her growing belly, brown eyes bright with excitement as he looked up at her when their child moved beneath his palm. But he wasn't there; he could never be there, and so she went on alone.

She was alone through the nights of worrying that the false Braxton-Hicks contractions might be labor come too early, and alone during those agonizing-yet-normal moments when maternal paranoia mistook temporary lack of fetal movement for something far worse than sleep. But most of all, through all the joys and trials of pregnancy, she just wanted him there, holding her in his arms, telling her in a way mere words never could that he was there and that he loved her and that everything was going to be okay.

Hardest of all, she was alone at the end. When her water broke, and she had to call her handler, for crying out loud, to get a ride to the hospital. Alone in the maternity room, when the contractions would overcome her, rather than his face - though by then she would have been grateful even for Rodney McKay - the most sentimental item she could find to focus on was a damn cereal box that didn't even bear the right name.

But it was in the final agonizing moments when she needed him the most. When she missed him the most. Not because, at that point, he could have done one little thing to make her hurt one little bit less. Not when her insides were being ripped open and the only thing that got her through was the same gut-level grim determination that had seen her through countless battles before.

No. She needed him there for the very last moments of all - the moment their son slipped into the world. When he took his first breath and opened bleary newborn eyes for the first time. When they placed him, still wet and unwashed, under a blanket on her chest and their eyes met, his bright blue beneath a patch of wet brown hair.

That was the moment she needed Jack most.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Later, alone in a maternity room large enough to hold car loads of visiting friends, Sam watched in wonder as the baby in her arms slept. He was so tiny, so frail… and so perfect. And he was there, living and breathing and just simply being. She wasn't alone anymore; she may have lost Jack, but she had their son. And while she had hated before - and even killed before - she shuddered to imagine what she would do to anyone who even threatened to hurt him.

Her life - finally - had meaning again in protecting and nurturing his. They might be alone in a time that wasn't their own, but at least now they were alone together, which was a completely different thing.


	6. Leaving

Sam had stopped at the grocery store for a few quick items on her way home from work; three-month olds didn't make the best shopping companions. She was just putting her purchases in the back of her car when she saw it - a sight she'd been half-expecting to see every day since she'd come to this timeline a year ago. An Al'Kesh, low in the sky, circling the city. An advanced scout.

There was no decision to make.

Reaching for her cell phone, she quickly dialed. Then, after a brief conversation, she slipped it back into her pocket and got in her car. Her handler would meet her at home. She had someone to say goodbye to first.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

She didn't even bother trying to stop the tears that came as she kissed his soft round cheek, taking in the baby shampoo-clean smell of him, knowing it might be for the very last time. He looked back at her, not understanding her mood, and smiled. He made an unsuccessful grab for her hair before making a sound which she was sure was "Ma," but was probably only a burp. Quickly, as more tears threatened, she passed him back to his properly-vetted government-provided nanny.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of him, ma'am," the nanny promised.

Sam's handler, who was standing in the corner trying to look unobtrusive despite the fact that he looked like - and almost certainly was - a bulky ex-marine, hastened to add, "And if you're… gone… too long, I'm sure other arrangements will be made."

He had such a way with words. Sam looked at her son in the other woman's arms. The urge to snatch him back - to hold on and not let go - was nearly overwhelming. But she overcame it. Because Sam had a job to do - a job only she could do.

So she turned and walked away, leaving the apartment. Not daring even to look back.

She would either give him a safe world to grow up in, or she would die trying. And it was only a very small voice in her head, a voice suspiciously like that of Jack O'Neill, which whispered that, maybe, if she were very, very clever, and lucky, and good - which she most certainly was - maybe she could give him more. She could give him a father in a perfect world.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

And as it happened, in the end, with the help of her team, Sam did all three.

Which is why, of course, none of this ever really happened.


	7. Perfect

What actually happened, less than a year after Sam left Atlantis and the last Ba'al clone was successfully extracted and Sam and Jack's leave in Minnesota was temporarily interrupted because of an alien seed, was this:

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Jack was working down the list written in small familiar script - always surprisingly neat for a scientist's - on the piece of paper clutched in his hand.

1) Call Cassie

He'd done that, and the young woman, who'd moved into her own apartment shortly after graduating from college last year, was going to meet them there.

2) Put suitcase in car.

Which was harder than it sounded, because for the life of him he couldn't remember where she'd stuck it. And that information wasn't on the list. He turned towards his wife, who was standing in the kitchen, leaning on the breakfast bar with both arms for support. A stopwatch sat on the counter.

He forgot his original question. "How long 'till the next one?"

"They're at about ten minutes, so about four more."

Her voice sounded a bit strained, which he supposed was normal for a woman in early labor, so he chose to ignore it. He had something else he had to do anyway, which was… He looked around, trying to remember.

"The list, Jack."

List. Right. He glanced back at the paper, still in his hand.

"Uh… Carter? Where's your suitcase?"

She laughed, but unless he was imagining things, it sounded a bit forced. "My - " the sentence ended abruptly on a sharp intake of breath and she clutched at her abdomen.

He stepped quickly to her side. "Look here," he ordered. She pulled her gaze up to meet his, pain evident across her features. He took both her hands in his as he ordered again, "Okay. Now concentrate and breathe, Samantha."

She nodded, and he led her through the Lamaze breathing exercises. As the contraction finished, he observed, "That was a lot faster than ten minutes."

Sam looked down at the watch and nodded. "Six."

"Crap." It would take at least an hour to get to the hospital, even if he drove like he flew. He quickly read through the list which he'd set on the counter earlier. Most of it could wait. "Okay, you go get in the car while I go grab your stuff."

With a nod, she moved toward the front door while Jack, whose memory had sharpened with the word 'six', ran to her closet to get her suitcase. And, though he really didn't drive that fast - Sam wouldn't let him - they got to the hospital in plenty of time.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Jack had seen her like this far too often before. It shouldn't have surprised him now. He stood facing her as she sat on the edge of the hospital bed, her face buried in his neck, clinging to him as she rode out yet another contraction in his arms. Lamaze had proved worthless to her as the contractions intensified, and all the words he could find inadequate some time ago, and it had come down to this - offering her what comfort she could find in the circle of his embrace.

It seemed to be enough.

The pain passing, she relaxed against him, shifting slightly to lay her head against his shoulder. Even in profile, he could see the exhaustion etched across her features.

"Wanna try walking again?"

She shook her head, "Uh-uh."

He hadn't thought so. The contractions were coming too close together to allow her to properly recover between them anymore. "Wanna try lying down?"

She shook her head, and managed a brief smile. "I'm good here."

He couldn't help but smile in response, kissing the top of her head as he squeezed her gently for a second. No sooner had he done so than she tensed in his arms, hanging onto him tightly once more as the cycle began again.

There had been almost no time between those two. Jack glanced toward the door, willing it to open. Before the contraction had fully passed, it did.

Cassie Fraiser stepped through the door, followed closely by Lieutenant Colonel Sinard - whom Jack later learned was the head of the Department of Obstetrics and had actually been dragged out of bed for the delivery. "You were right, Jack," Cassie said, "'General O'Neill was wondering...' works a lot better than just 'Jack.'"

"I thought it might." Rank was good for something. Then, addressing the doctor, "I know you said it would be at least another hour, but they're coming almost on top of each other now.…"

Colonel Sinard glanced from Jack to Sam, who was huddled in his arms in the middle of yet another contraction. Looking back at Jack, the doctor nodded. "Right. Help her get onto the bed, then."

After the worst of the contraction had passed, Jack helped Sam get into position on the bed. The doctor took less than a minute to examine Sam before looking back up at Jack and saying, with a smile, "Good call, Daddy. I can see a head."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

There was, though Jack had forgotten it, a great deal to work to be done between the first glimpse of the top of a baby's head and an actual baby - a lot of hard work, and a lot of pain. His Sam - as always - was handling them both with a fierce gut-level determination that took his breath away. And she truly was amazing. Pushing through each contraction seemingly oblivious to her own body's pain, focused solely on giving birth to their child. He would have fallen in love with her all over again if that had been possible.

Jack, on the other hand, was unable to do anything but stand there next to her bed, holding her hand and offering words of encouragement that didn't even come close to expressing the awe he felt at what she was doing. And Cassie was there as well, at Sam's request, standing at the head of the bed, keeping sweat and hair out of Sam's face and offering her own words of encouragement. It was all they could do, so it had to be enough.

Finally, after such long a time that Jack was beginning to panic that something was wrong, Colonel Sinard looked up at Sam with a smile. "Alright, Sam, almost there." Then she added, motioning Jack toward the end of the bed, "If you'd like to help deliver the baby, sir, now's the time."

Jack moved to the indicated position. Looking back up at Sam, the doctor continued, "Now, on the next contraction, Sam, I need you to push as hard as you can."

Sam nodded and, as her eyes briefly found his, Jack, nearly overcome, could only offer a soft, "Go, Carter," by way of encouragement. But she - somehow - managed the shadow of a smile and, closing her eyes, with a fierce cry that rejected pain, pushed.

In a single fluid movement, their son slipped into the world, and into Jack's waiting arms.

The nurses were there in an instant, cleaning the baby's nose and face and doing a quick physical assessment as Jack held him close. When, under the direction of Colonel Sinard, Jack cut the umbilical chord, the baby remained tucked against his side. It wasn't until he handed his son, swaddled now in a warmed blanket, into his mother's waiting arms that he finally let him go. And when Sam looked for the first time into bright blue eyes which matched her own, under a patch of wet brown hair the color of his, it was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

Until she looked up over her shoulder at him, her smile wide despite her exhaustion, eyes filled with the same immense love, joy and pride he knew she must see in his. And he knew that was the most perfect moment of all.


	8. Complete

Samantha Carter sat in the hospital bed, staring intently into the face of the brand-new person lying in her arms and who, for once in his short life, wasn't hungry, sleepy, dirty, or monopolized by his proud father. Or any combination of the above. Not that she was complaining. Jack's attentiveness - and his experience - had allowed her to get at least some sleep between their son's all too frequent feedings. And it had been rather nice to have his advice during those first difficult diaper changes and nursing sessions rather than that of a relatively impersonal nurse.

Still, with Jack finally getting some much needed sleep on the cot set-up for him in the corner, it was nice to finally have some time alone with their son. Sam couldn't get over how light he felt in her arms, how thin and deceptively frail his tiny fingers looked as they curled tightly around one of hers, or the perfect yet miniature form of his nose. And his mouth. And his ears. Most of all, though, she marveled at the intensity of his gaze - as if he were trying to understand the whole of the universe through a study of her face. And maybe he was.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. Since, for the last day and half, they'd been continually interrupted by various members of the medical staff on missions of varying importance, this wasn't at all surprising. "Come in," she called, softly, trying not to disturb the infant starting to doze in her arms.

What was surprising, however, was the face that popped inside the door. "Hi, Sam!" he said.

"Daniel!"

Daniel stepped into the room, carrying a bouquet of flowers, which he set down on the small table probably designed for that purpose. Cameron and Vala followed close behind him. Sam would have welcomed them, but she forgot all such niceties the moment Teal'c entered the room behind them, carrying an enormous stuffed blue bunny.

After a moment of stunned silence, and another of laughter, she finally managed to say: "He is going to kill you, Teal'c."

The large Jaffa looked at her and, with absolute predictability, answered, "Indeed." But she knew him well enough to recognize by the twinkle in his eyes and the twitch at the corner of his mouth that he was as close as he ever came to laughter.

All the noise of their friend's entry and Sam's subsequent laughter had managed to wake Jack, though fortunately it had not woken his son, who was sleeping with the coma-like soundness only a warm and well-fed newborn could achieve. "Who's going to kill…" he began to ask as he joined his friends, but the words were cut off suddenly as a look of stunned horror swept across his features when he realized what Teal'c was carrying.

Before Jack could say anything more - or prove Sam prophetic - Daniel had crossed to the bed. "So … this is Matthew?" he asked brightly, leaning over to look at the baby more closely.

Jack was sufficiently distracted by the opportunity to show off his son that he not only forgot about the stuffed rabbit, but didn't even bother with an appropriate rejoinder to Daniel's absurd question. "Yeah," he said, grinning broadly. He stepped to the other side of Sam and pulled back the blanket so their friends could get a better look. "Isn't he perfect? "

"Takes after his mother," Daniel observed.

Again, Jack failed to play. "Yup."

Cam muttered "Lucky kid," under his breath.

Cameron wasn't as privileged as Daniel. "Watch it, Mitchell," Jack warned, but even that failed to sound properly severe.

"Yes, sir," Cam replied, then smiled as he looked back down at the infant. "Besides, I can see a lot of you in him too, sir."

"Poor kid," Jack said, catching Cam's eye with a wink, and everyone laughed.

Seeing her former teammates, who had become more like family than friends themselves, all there together, being so them, their love and their laughter filling the room as they celebrated Matthew's birth, Sam felt her own happiness expand - impossibly - with theirs. Without even knowing it, she had needed them there; it wouldn't have been right without them. Suddenly overcome with gratitude, she said: "Hey, guys." They all turned to look at her, grown suddenly serious themselves by the seriousness in her tone. "Thanks for coming."

"Don't thank us," Cam said.

"Thank the General," Vala added brightly, "He bought the tickets. And I haven't been to DC for awhile, so I figured, why not?" But the smile she gave Sam clearly indicated that that was not the real reason.

Sam looked at Jack. "Really? You planned all this?"

He shrugged and grinned sheepishly in that self-effacing way he did when throwing off his own brilliance. "Well, I heard they were 'around'," he explained, drawing quotes in the air, "And I figured you'd want them here." His eyes, when he looked at her, told her the rest.

Her heart did that funny little half-beat thing it always did whenever Jack told her he loved her, with or without words; and she smiled up at him across the circle of their friends, telling him she loved him back in the way she knew meant more to him than words. Once again, Jack had proved he understood her better than she knew herself. In sharing her joy with her friends, her own became truly complete.

-end-


End file.
